Magnolia City (30 page)

Kirb sat back, his eyes cagey. “How do we know it’s not just a lucky strike?”

“Oh, never mind, Dad. I don’t know why I was expecting anything from you.” Hetty stood up. “It’s time to feed the baby.”

Kirb gazed down at his grandson, not ready to relinquish the child. He unzipped the bunting and grabbed one of Pierce’s tiny hands, shaking it lightly. When the baby smiled at him, he babbled nonsense back. Then he sighed and heaved the two of them off the sofa, passing Pierce into Hetty’s arms. While he was bent close, he murmured in her ear. “I just need more proof, princess. Then you’ll hear from me.”

Hetty said nothing to Garret, thinking it would be well into January before her father called. But on the Monday following Christmas, after sweeping up fallen tinsel and torn wrapping paper, Hetty took Pierce for a stroll down the block and picked up a copy of the
Post-Dispatch
from a coin box. There on the front page was the news they’d been waiting for: Another well had been discovered near Kilgore, the Lou Della Crim, only nine miles north of Joiner’s. “Excitement High,” the headline read. “Opens Extensive Territory.” She showed it to Garret when he got home that afternoon and, that very night, her father telephoned to say he was arranging a meeting with none other than Cleveland Yoakum. It was to take place during the New Year’s Day brunch at the Cupola Club.

On Wednesday, Nella called, asking after the baby. She lowered her voice and added, “Tell Garret not to get his hopes up, dear. Your father twisted Cleve’s arm to come to this luncheon, but never forget he’s a Texas oilman. A slab o’ granite.”

“But, Mamá, haven’t you heard? Another well was discovered.”

“I don’t care if they found diamonds in the drill stem. You won’t get past Cleve the Cliff. And by the way, we only call him that behind his back. To you, he’s Mr. Yoakum.”

“I’ll remember that, Mamá.”

Nella lowered her voice. “This is so unlike your father. I think he’s doing it because of Pierce.”

“Pierce?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? Charlotte had a miscarriage. She’s not going to be giving us that grandson.”

Hetty gasped into the phone. “At Christmas? How awful. She was so elated at your party.”

“
Pobrecita
. You should call her,
m’ija.
She’s in a bad way.”

Hetty wondered if that was a good idea.

Later that afternoon, after putting Pierce down for a nap, Hetty got up the nerve to dial Splendora’s number. The phone rang and rang. She was about to hang up when a familiar but irritated voice answered. “Rusk residence.”

“Tuggie?”

“Speakin’.”

“It’s Hetty.”

“Miss Hetty? Well, I’ll be. But hold on, you ain’t a miss anymore, I hear. And a mother, too. How’s your baby boy?”

“Wonderful, thanks. What are you doing answering the phone?”

“You tell me. Like to rung off the wall. And me with so much dirt to scratch. Wait’ll I get my hands on some niggers.”

“I’m calling to talk to Charlotte. How is she?”

Tuggie lowered her voice. “She not doing good. Just lie on the sofa listening to radio. And Chief shunning her. Poor child. She’ll be glad to hear from you.”

“I hope so. Can you put her on?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hetty heard a rustling, then Tuggie’s contralto voice booming through the vast rooms.
“Charlotte! Phone!”

Clicking followed by a whispered, “Hello.”

“Charlotte, it’s Hetty. I heard the news. I’m so sorry. How are you?”

“All right.” There was a long pause. Hetty didn’t know what to say. She heard sniffling, then, “I just feel so blue.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you? Can you really? Did Lamar tell you?”

“No, Mamá called.”

“I thought he might have come to you.”

Hetty wasn’t sure how to respond to that. A loud protestation would sound like an admission of guilt. She tried to keep her voice steady as she said, “I don’t think I’ve seen Lamar since the wedding.”

“I know he’s disappointed.”

“A lot of women lose their first child. You’ll have another. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got Tuggie. She’s been a big help.”

“How about I bring Pierce by to cheer you up?”

Hetty heard more sniffling. “I . . . I don’t think I could witness your happiness right now.”

“Oh . . .” Hetty stammered. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just want him to get to know his aunt.”

“Use me another time. Not now.”

“Char . . .” Hetty sighed. “I wish there were something I could do.”

“There isn’t. You’re making it worse, actually.”

“Oh . . .” Hetty never knew how to talk to her sister. “Then I’d better go. Let me know if you need me—for
anything
.”

“I don’t . . . but thanks.” There was a hollow click.

Hetty left the stroller at home. She knew the New Year’s brunch at the club was always a lavish affair and didn’t want to try and wheel her way through the ice sculptures and the silver tea sets. She wrapped Pierce in a creamy wool and satin blanket, and herself in her long silver fox. Garret got his papers in order and knotted on a crisp four-in-hand silk to set off his pin-striped suit. Hetty glimpsed him in the bathroom, parting his hair precisely down the middle, adding an extra splash of luster to make it shine even more.

As a waiter led them through the vast dining hall, she nestled Pierce against her fur coat. Cleveland Yoakum didn’t rise when they approached the table. He sat there stony as the Sphinx, Bloody Mary in one hand, Cinco cigar in the other. As her father hailed them and drew out a chair for her to sit in, Cleveland nodded a head thick with white hair in their direction. She noticed that he was wearing a diamond-studded bolo instead of a tie. That didn’t surprise her, but the plate of half-eaten ham and eggs in front of him did. He had helped himself before they arrived. Hetty’s mind stung with the Morse code he was telegraphing by that gesture: This young couple wasn’t important enough to wait for, even if
she
was Kirby Allen’s daughter. Even now he hardly acknowledged their presence. Hetty ignored him right back, leaving the baby with his grandfather and sidling up to the buffet for some of the club’s famous creamed crab over toast.

When she returned, Garret was thanking her father for the invitation and turning to Cleveland. “Mr. Yoakum,” he began (she’d warned him not to use his first name), “I’d also like to thank you for that contact with Humble.”

A guttural grunt was the only reply.

“I’ve been on a rig for over a year now.”

A long silence. Then a deep drawl: “Learned anything?”

“I think so, sir. I started as a floor hand, worked the motors for a while, and this fall was promoted to driller.”

Cleveland looked at Garret directly for the first time. “Driller?”
Drillah?

“Yes, sir, Mr. Yoakum.”

“So you think you know how to drill an oil well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But do you know the difference between a driller and a wildcatter?”

Garret hesitated. “Is this a trick question?”

Kirb spoke up. “Wildcatters usually hire someone to do their drilling.”

Garret looked a little chagrined. Cleveland flicked his cigar into an ashtray and stuck it in one corner of his mouth. Out of the other, he said, “Let me put it this way. Now that you’ve given Kirb a grandson, I suppose you’ll go on working at Humble?”

Garret glanced at Hetty. “I know that’s what I should do, but I just can’t. I’m going to East Texas.”

Cleveland’s chest heaved with laughter. Garret went over to the buffet to get some food.

“Before you arrived,” Kirb said, “we were placing bets on whether Garret was wildcat material or not. Cleve is surprised he’s kept the same job for a year.”

Hetty glanced at him with a puzzled look.

“You see, ma’am,” Cleveland said, “the wildcatter’s problem, he’s plum farsighted. Can’t see what’s right in front of him ’cause he’s always looking out yonder . . .”

“That’s Garret all right,” Hetty said.

Kirb kissed his grandson on the cheeks and smiled beatifically. “We have to hand it to him, Cleve. He predicted the strike in East Texas when the rest of us were scoffing.”

Cleveland stoked his cigar. “We never reckoned they’d find the Woodbine Sand up east.”

Garret heard the tail end of the sentence as he sat down. “The Woodbine? Now there’s something to talk about! It was right where Doc Lloyd said it would be, at thirty-six hundred feet.”

Garret’s boast drew a flinty glance from Cleveland. “Didn’t prove a damned thing.”
A damned thang.

“With all due respects, Mr. Yoakum, how can you say that? It proved that Doc Lloyd wasn’t the charlatan everybody said he was but, indeed, a great geologist.”

“It proved he was damned lucky, that’s all.” He took a swig of scalding hot coffee, black as crude. “But this new well, this Lou Della Crim, makes me think we have an oil field on our hands.”

Hetty handed Garret a fork so he’d eat something.

“Twenty-two thousand barrels is nothing to sniff at,” Kirb said.

“It was the cleanest wildcat ever drilled in Texas,” Cleveland announced. “They didn’t spill a drop. The temperature was only seventy-four degrees. Now that’s what I call an elegant oil well. None of this gusher crap like you had with Joiner and his crew. This one was all done scientifically.”

“Maybe so, but the frenzy’s started,” Kirb said, rocking his grandson in his arms. “The day after the well came in, they say the people of Kilgore woke up and found thousands of boomers swarming into town.”

Garret’s silverware clattered to his plate. “Damn! I’ve got to get up there before it’s too late.”

“We’ve got to get in there before the big boys buy up all the leases, that’s what we got to do,” Kirb said. “And we have to be quiet about it. That’s why I invited Mr. Yoakum to brunch today.”

“Um-hmm,” growled Cleveland.

“You see, Garret, Cleveland thinks he could get together a consortium of interest owners willing to gamble on East Texas. I’m one of them, in fact. We’re just looking for an operator that can do the job.”

“Give me a chance, gentlemen,” Garret said with reverence. “I know I can do it.”

Cleveland ignored him and drawled, “Strictly speaking, it’s not a wildcatter we’re looking for, Kirb. The field’s been discovered. We just need somebody to get in there, buy a lease, and drill us a well without messin’ up.”

Garret fumbled with his papers. “We don’t need a lease, sir. I’ve already got a one-acre share. Look—” He waved the certificate in front of them.

“Forget that swindler, son,” Cleveland said. “You got to go up yonder and find yourself a dirt-poor cotton farmer and offer him more money than he’s ever seen in his life. He’ll sign whatever you stick under his nose. East Texas is so poor the roaches are starving to death.”

“I hope you’ll take a chance on me. I can show you—I’m a good investment.” Garret reached for more papers.

“Investment?” Cleveland’s chest rumbled with amusement. “Let me tell you how I invest. I’m like the red-eared slider trying to cross the road to get to the other side. Turtle don’t move unless he sticks his neck out. Say he hears a car coming. If he pulls his head back in, he gets run over. That’s my philosophy of investing. It’s just that simple, son.”

When Pierce started to fuss, Kirb gave him up reluctantly. Hetty excused herself and found a dark corner of the bar where she could breastfeed in private. Garret emerged after a while and hustled her into a waiting elevator.

“Did you eat anything?” she asked, but his lips were pressed together tightly. Then the bronze doors slid shut, and he erupted with shouts, jumping around and making the car shake as it descended.

“Twenty thousand dollars!” he trumpeted.

“What? He’s going to raise twenty thousand dollars? Whatever for?”

“That’s how much it takes.”

“So much money! Don’t you have to put up some kind of collateral?”

“He made me promise to pay the investors back if the well’s a dud. He wants it part of the contract.”

Hetty’s voice went cold. “Oh . . . I see.” A few floors passed in silence. “Couldn’t you have asked me first?”

“It’s only a precaution. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“No?” Hetty’s breath came hot. “You’ve put us twenty thousand in debt in the middle of a depression, and it doesn’t mean anything?”

“Stay out of this, Hetty. I’ll pay back the twenty thou in no time, I promise.”

“How?”

“The Lou Della Crim paid for itself in twenty-four hours.”

“It did?”

“Of course. Oil’s selling for a dollar five a barrel.”

“That doesn’t sound like much.”

“Honey, the Lou Della Crim came in at twenty-two thousand barrels.”

“So?”

“Twenty-two thousand barrels a day. You can multiply, can’t you?”

She thought about it for a moment. Then felt a sudden sinking in her stomach that wasn’t from the elevator falling to a stop. The doors hissed open and the polished pink marble walls of the lobby flashed into her eyes. Garret disappeared into the light.

Hetty ran after him. “That’s twenty-two thousand dollars a day!”

He shouted over his shoulder. “That’s a million dollars every couple of months. Six million dollars a year.”

“You mean we could be making six million dollars a year off one oil well?”

He stopped and turned to her. “Goddamn, Hetty, what do you think I’ve been talking about all this time?”

She sank onto a bronze bench at the foot of a towering Corinthian column. Looking up at Garret and past him at the portico that soared three stories above them, she had a vertiginous glimpse of power, of the thrust that had raised the Esperson Building above the simple prairie dust. It wasn’t the money that made her dizzy, it was that glimpse of a life so far off the ground, close to that high place where her sister now dwelt like a goddess with Lamar. In a small voice, she said, “I guess I never really thought about the numbers.”

He glared down at her, his hands gripping the portfolio he’d presented to Cleveland Yoakum. He’d scrubbed himself for this meeting, but still the thumbnails were outlined in black from the crude oil that had soaked into his skin.
Lamar’s hands would never be soiled like this,
Hetty thought. Yet his manicured fingers had taught Hetty how to play dirty tricks on her husband. She felt sullied by him, guilty by association. Only her baby had saved her from outright deception and, now, she could see how false her heart had been. To be faithful, after all, meant just that: to have faith, to believe enough in your marriage to stay with it no matter what. She had given up too easily, had given in to temptation, and failed Garret as a wife. But it was not too late. She could still serve her husband obediently and, in being true to his vision, cleanse herself. Ignoring the people passing by, Hetty grabbed one of his hands and began kissing it over and over.